


Immune To Hellfire

by NervousOtaku



Series: Neo-City Series [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Drinking, Reflection, Smoking, Some gun-violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 15:27:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15052238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousOtaku/pseuds/NervousOtaku
Summary: Rowan takes a minute to reflect while drinking.





	Immune To Hellfire

_There was a kind of tree whose wood didn't burn._

Another puff of smoke left his lips, joining the haze that had already settled over the bar.

The Samkiel of Heaven was a savior of souls.

Samkiel Church, of Neo-City's company, was probably more comparable to a rapist of souls.

Rowan closed his eyes, shutting out the babble of the seedy bar. It stank, full of smoke, shitty alcohol, busted lips and noses, and girls flashing their flowers for cash. At least one person had puked their guts out on the floor since he'd gotten here.

A respectable person, or someone with morals, wouldn't be caught dead here. In the outliers, in this ratty town, in this bar. Good thing he wasn't respectable. Bastards and whoresons tended to be the opposite of that. And he wasn't too sure deserters exactly had morals.

To be honest, Rowan couldn't remember the reason why he deserted.

Scratch that, he decided as he lifted a hand to call for another beer.

He knew why he deserted, and that was that he didn't know why. He couldn't remember, and Sam...

He cut that train of thought off as a girl showing far too much leg for her age delivered his drink.

Outliers were beyond the city-states. Beyond Neo-City, their precious company, and their expanding empire. Beyond the law of Neo-City, Noviopolis, Newcastle, and all the other city-states with their companies. Lawless. Rife with everything that companies declared wrong about the Ancient World. Some saw outliers as surviving fragments of the Ancient World, and sought to preserve them.

For Rowan?

They were work. Shelter. Food. Someplace Neo-City couldn't touch him. Not without giving him enough warning that he could kill himself before giving them the pleasure.

It was funny, he mused as he sipped at his beer. The name Rowan gave connotations of good luck, but he only ever seemed to attract bad luck.

Without really thinking about it, he reached up to rub the scar on his right temple, rolling his cigarette between his fingertips.

It had started way back when he first met Sam, most likely. A tiny, miserable thing in what had looked like hospital scrubs, wandering through the streets. Rowan had been unable to pass the poor wretch by, knowing well what being miserable was like. They had been best friends. Every time Sam got away from his handlers, he would inevitably find Rowan, and the two would play until Sam left for the labs again.

And then he himself had joined the company's army. Been a regular infantryman until he proved proficient with phase-weapons.

His leg brushed against the large metal box under his table, bringing a faint twinge of comfort.

Neo-City was the only one to have developed phase-weapons. Large, lightweight devices that could shift into a variety of forms. They were activated by touch, and drew on the energy of the wielder to power themselves. They could be firearms, melee weapons, or shields. The Unfazeable teams were part of what gave Neo-City a leg up on the other city-states.

A fight was breaking out. Nothing physical, not yet. But Rowan still put out his cigarette and shifted so he could better grab his phase-weapon.

The Unfazeables and Sam.

Sam, who could cut through armies easily. Sam, who could run a mile in four minutes and go for another lap. Sam, who despite their differences in size and build, could easily bench Rowan and two other men.

Sam, who hated people.

Rowan drummed his fingers against the table, holding his beer but not drinking it.

Sam had always hated people. He remembered one time a secretary, teased and mocked by her coworkers, had made fudge for Sam. In front of everyone, the man had eaten it, smiled, and patted her head. He had then excused himself and purged in the bathroom.

A sigh left him.

Sam had been different back then. Friendly. Antisocial and prone to stupid things, but... different. His smiles were sweet, but genuine. He showed mercy and avoided killing. He dodged people and spoke politely.

Now...

Rowan shuddered, remembering the Noviopolis army. The shower of red. Sam's cold smile as he asked what bar they should go to that night.

Saccharine, artificial smiles. Bloodlust and ruthlessness. Blunt, harsh words as people were shoved away.

Sam had changed.

The fight was kicking up. Rowan leaned down to pick up the phase-weapon. The pathways lit up pink, humming softly.

He couldn't remember when Sam had changed.

He knew it wasn't natural.

Combining those two facts... it suggested some worrying things.

It was the company's fault.

The fight was a brawl now.

Rowan finished his beer and stood, phase-weapon hissing as it changed from a metal box to a large gun. Someone saw and screamed. A few people ducked down, but not many.

He opened fire, holding the trigger for ten seconds.

The energy-shots glowed pink, their hue catching the haze. Electricity was added to the stink, and smoke contributed to the cloud of smog.

He didn't count the bodies as the weapon returned to normal. The company was known for efficiency, and he'd killed far more on the battlefield.

Rowan stepped over dead and living alike as he approached the bar. Everyone quivered as he paid. The girl who served him flinched when he turned to her, so he just dropped his tip at her feet.

It wasn't just Sam the company had changed.

_There was a kind of tree whose wood didn't burn._


End file.
